


Sunsets In Autumn

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Gunshots, M/M, Metaphors, Rooftops, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, This is suicide please heed the warnings, overly poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:38:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11808996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: Nothing had ever been more beautiful, more breathtakingly gorgeous, than sunsets in Autumn.





	Sunsets In Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is @jamisahivemind from tumblr! Make sure to comment, kudos, and hang out with me over on the hellsite!

In small moments such as the one Alexander found himself in, being alone wasn’t entirely unbearable. In fact, had he been with another person at that particular point in time, the whole experience wouldn’t be worth it in the slightest.

The trees were always so gorgeous at this time of year- Thomas’s favorite color. Autumn spreading through the world like a lace cloak, wrapping itself around your legs and tangling until you collapsed in a pile of crimson and scarlet leaves. A symphony of crunches and gentle crackles would surround him as he fell, Thomas’s light laughter following suit. Then, Thomas would extend his hand and pull Alexander up from the ground, brushing aside a few leaves that had found their way into his dark locks of hair. Only after that would Alexander find it within himself to chuckle softly, standing up on his tiptoes and pressing a kiss as light as an end-of-summer breeze to his cheek.

After all that had happened, though, Alexander no longer wished to see any more crimson than he had to- which was why he had decided on spending these precious few moments in flight, wind whipping through his hair like the winds that had carried an early chill along with splatters of boldly colored leaves. 

If Thomas was anything, it would have to be the sunset. Shades of colors flooding in at every angle, the rare few moments when one could set their full gaze upon such brilliance and glory without being burnt. If one flies too close to the sun, their wax wings will melt and drip down into a grotesque landing area of certain doom. But if you only reach out your arms and close your eyes, the sunset is still. It is calm, only when one believes it to be- and those who know better are fully aware that the sunset will never be entirely calm. They see past the broken promises of blue skies and pale clouds, their vision focused on burning scarlet and dabbles of violet-tinged pink. All too aware that no matter how far they reach, the pastels will never fill their grasping hands, and yet, they still attempt to find little pieces of dusk that they can hold close to their hearts and marvel at the beauty of.

But that wasn’t why Thomas was the sunset. The sunset has always meant an ending, for as long as stories have been told and voices have been speaking. When an author claims that the sun has set on a character’s story, they mean that it is over, that there will be no more of what the reader has grown so endeared to. The end of a day is marked by a sunset, watercolors rippling through the atmosphere onto a canvas that very few have even dreamed of traversing with the strokes of a paintbrush.

That’s why he’d chosen his descent for the time of day where the world was near-silent, and tree branches laid still on the ground in honor of the colors adorning the sky. The rooftop was high enough that from where he stood, he could almost feel the soft blue sky trailing behind him in silent hope that it would not have to depart the world so soon. He idly wondered, if only for a moment, how long it would take someone to see him standing on the ledge and try to talk him down from it. It would only be a few minutes for them to run up the stairs and get to the roof, grab him by the arms and hug him tightly, with promises that it would all be okay. But that would be pointless.

Because when the crimson had flooded out from Thomas’s sunlit hair until the painted sky, his breaths unsteady and broken, Alexander’s heart had shattered into a thousand pieces of the diamonds that adorned the sky, only beginning to show in the corners of the newly emerging night sky. The gunshot had only lasted a split second, and yet the sounds still echoed through the brick alleyway as though it were a symphony hall. Thomas had reached up with his cold hand- when had his skin gotten so damn cold?- and gently cupped Alexander’s cheek, smearing a small trail of blood on his face.

Alexander had then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, pressing down on the wound and trying his best not to sob. The ambulance would be there soon, it wasn’t too late, Thomas just had to stay awake for a few more minutes longer- but time is funny like that. Time does not particularly care about what one person wants, or how long it should stretch on. It assesses the situation it finds itself in, and pinpoints exactly how long each second will be. So when Alexander slowly pulled away from the embrace, each minute having felt like its own small piece of eternity, it was already too late.

But it’s never too late, when it comes to death, Alexander thought, staring down at the sidewalk below him. Death is simply the closing of a door that one wishes had remained open. Death is when a flower wilts before you can give it to the person that makes your heart beat far faster than usual. Death is a trail of lipstick down your cheek that has yet to be wiped away. Because those are all things that still leave a bit of space- just the smallest bit- for a do-over. Another chance to prove yourself.

And as Alexander stepped of the edge, he felt no surge of fear down his spine, nor chills in his feet, nor dizziness in his mind. After all, he was just trying to reset the world to the way it once had been. A world where he had Thomas. A world where he could smile without guilt weighing him down. A world where each breath seemed more like a gift than an unwanted obligation.

A world where the sunset could lean down and kissed him on the cheek, smiling.


End file.
